


Fighting Through the Memories

by EmbersownGracie (GrayEmbers)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Nerdy AI Stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayEmbers/pseuds/EmbersownGracie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she descends into the capture unit meant for Epsilon, Tex is confronted with a parallel situation to Epsilon.  The people in the memory are not behaving like their real life counterparts, and she handles the frustration in true Tex fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting Through the Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I started pondering what Tex may have been up to while Epsilon was yelling at the Reds for “not doing it right” in his Season 9 memories… and what if she was off on her own in some of Epsilon’s memories without his knowledge? Which isn’t so farfetched - Tex goes from desperately searching for her identity in Season 8 to seeming calm and “knowing everything Epsilon knows” in Season 9, so she had to access some type of memories? Although the difference may not be as stark as I make it out to be.
> 
> [Original post.](http://embersownmatt.tumblr.com/post/23721192927/its-still-tex-thursday-somewhere-shot)
> 
> Alternate plotbunny: she was able to access all the voice diary entries that Epsilon downloaded from the Director.

Everything Tex had been striving for, all her carefully laid plans, ruined in an instant:

_shock, screaming, and death_

Death meant nothing to Tex. She mourned neither her physical body nor her loss to the Meta. What tore at Tex as she settled into her new prison was her failure to reach her goal, her epiphany. The failure so painfully familiar despite her limited knowledge of her origin. The failure woven into her very being.

Tex’s presence, a memory’s memory, barely filled a data cell of the capture unit. As she gathered her composure, she felt just the intrusion she’d been expecting: the nosing of Church settling into the unit. Despite her newfound intimacy with the capture unit, Tex felt a chill of surprise when the machine gave its final death whine and powered down around the two captured lovers.

The extensive memory archives of Epsilon flowed into every unoccupied corner of the capture unit, expanding to reveal knowledge that neither program suspected to ever face again. For once, fate had softened its resolute refusal of Tex’s goal; she saw glimmering memories of her own past taking their place on the data buses. Tex had expected to beat the confidential information out of Agent Washington, but accessing Church’s memories would do just as well. Perhaps better - though Tex could still do with a good brawl to relieve her stress. 

Her wandering gaze quickly settled on a proper memory.

Tex slammed her coiled fist into Washington, sending the armored Freelancer reeling into a defensive position. The training room on _Mother of Invention_ flashed to life around Tex, immersing her in a memory of sparring teammates. On the sidelines, York refused a bottle of water from Wyoming as they watched Carolina and South trade kicks a few yards from where Tex ducked under Wash’s attempted jab.

Falling into her own, Tex exchanged blows with Wash. She shook off his best attempts, but she couldn’t shake the lingering feeling that something was off. He tripped her up and went in for the obvious hit, allowing Tex to roll away with her surprise at his lack of a coordinated scheme.

As she shot sidelong glances at Carolina’s fight, Tex realized it wasn’t just Wash; rather than a full-out match, Carolina seemed to be coaching South through the moves, encouraging her and offering insight into alternate form and tactic.

Catching her distraction, Wash twists and unleashes a nasty kick to Tex’s head, knocking her to roll across the floor and regain her wits. She heard a gloating snerk sound out, and Tex bristled as stood.

“Wash, watch the headshots!” Both fighters turned to Carolina as she stepped back from her own spar. Her tone carried a stern note, but Tex couldn’t place the alien concern woven in. “We’re not here to injure each other.”

Unfazed, Wash shrugged. “I’m not about to let an opportunity slip by,” he countered.

Tex couldn’t abide his smug remark. “Lucky shot,” she assured him as she jumped back into the fray. He countered and the two traded blows again, and this time Tex filtered out South’s fond jests and Carolina’s teaching tone.

Tex had always felt that to fight someone, to truly stand against them and compete for the victory, led to an intimate understanding. A strong relationship of sorts. Church may or may not have shared her views, but somehow the understanding of Wash’s fighting style filtered through the memory. Tex recognized the form and the calculation behind his blows despite the impulsive breaks from character.

This truth gave Tex something to grasp at. The atmosphere of the Freelancers was fundamentally wrong, but the real memory was buried in here somewhere.

Tossing Wash aside, Tex covered the distance to Carolina. South backed off in shock as Tex cut between them and traded blows with her rival. Without any warning, Carolina barely managed to keep her balance as Tex pushed her back to the wall.

When Carolina’s heels hit the molding and she faltered, Tex lurched forward and pinned Carolina against the wall with her shoulder and balled fist. Face-to-face now, Tex was close enough to see the red bangs and shocked, green eyes under her helmet.

The pieces of the puzzle were tantalizingly close, but none of the actors were reading the right lines. Tex couldn’t remember her origin, her creation, but she could glimpse the underlying foundation just as surely as she could see the truth beneath this false memory. Ghosts of her own lines whispered in her ears.

Ghosts and memories of her relationships with her teammates.

In her peripheral, Tex noticed York start pacing forward from the sidelines. “Wooahh,” he muttered apprehensively, but Carolina held up a hand in warning. “Okay, um, I’ll be here,” York replied uncertainly.

“Tex,” Carolina started seriously, “What -“

Leaning in, Tex stated, “You’re not acting like yourself, Carolina.”

“Excuse me?” Her tone held none of the life and confidence that Tex desired, nothing familiar to grasp onto.

“Where’s your competitive spirit, your force?” Tex demanded. “You don’t coddle, you _fight_.”

The other Freelancers shifted uncertainly where they stood. “That’s how ‘Lina always trains us,” a smooth voice answered, and it took a moment to register as Maine’s. Tex glanced over to watch Maine and York exchange a confused shrug.

Carolina’s tone grew serious as she addressed Tex’s accusation. “The team’s overall performance is more important than my own individual training.”

Ignoring Carolina, Tex used her free arm to point to the scoreboard visible through slitted windows. “Why aren’t you battling me for the top position?” Although Tex’s own name was conspicuously absent, the words Agent Carolina were slotted in fifth place.

Infuriatingly impassive, Carolina explained, “Wash has always been in first place. His impulsive breaks from the plan give him an edge.”

Tex scoffed. “Wash?”

The offended Freelancer stirred behind her. “You got a problem?” Wash asked.

Pushing herself off Carolina, Tex approached Wash. “You?” She asked. “You wouldn’t break protocol if it hit you in the head and stepped on your cat.”

“My _cat_?” Wash echoed in confusion, but Tex was already brushing past him. 

As she reached the middle of the training floor, Tex growled, “I didn’t come all this way to live a false memory.” Turning to address Carolina, she corrected her behavior, too. “You’re driven by a challenge, inspired to succeed. You’d never underestimate your teammates by walking them through every exercise; a good pounding will teach far better. You do what it takes to keep the team on its feet.”

Stunned silence met her speech. Frustrated, Tex turned to look at York and South. Neither had their trademark characteristics, but Tex merely shook her head at them. She wouldn’t waste her time if this approach wasn’t working.

As she paced towards the exit, Maine remarked, “I see someone woke up on the wrong side of bed.”

Tex shot him a passing gaze. “You’re much more intimidating when you’re quiet.”

The room stirs as Tex crosses the threshold, but her attention is pulled by the unmasked Freelancer scowling and leaning against the wall nearby. Tex stops to stare at CT.

“What,” the mousy woman asks, “Are you going to tell me I should fit in with the team? Conform to accepted explanations?”

The familiarity catches Tex off-guard. “You’ve always been a free thinker,” Tex states with a sort of respect. “It suits you.” 

Tex paces past CT, but the latter moves to the middle of the hall to watch Tex leave. “Why are you saying all this?” CT asks, a certain measure of suspicion in her tone. “What are you trying to change?”

Pausing, Tex stares vacantly down the hall. She can sense them now: the memories of her previous iterations lingering in the capture unit. The history and emotions of a familiar other. Maybe Church wasn’t the only one with a memory archive.

“I’m not changing anything,” Tex replied.

She was simply falling back into who she was.


End file.
